This is not a meme. Even though it looks exactly like one.

I was tagged by Karlene. Here are the rules:

1. List 12 random things about yourself that have to do with Christmas

2. Please refer to it as a 'hoopla' and not the dreaded 'm'-word.)

3. You have to specifically tag people when you're done. None of this "if you're reading this, consider yourself tagged" stuff is allowed.

4. Please try and do it as quickly as possible. The Christmas season will be over before we know it and whoever started this not-meme would like to get as many people involved as possible.

My 12 things:

1. Every year I plan to get all my shopping done online, and all before the 2nd week of December. I'm very good at getting the easiest 90% of it done around the 10th of December. At this point I'm feeling really good about myself, so I breathe an early sigh of relief. And I keep breathing until Christmas eve when I'm still stuck with the last 10%: the hardest people on my list to buy for. The path to failure is paved with good intentions.

2. My favorite Christmas treats are homemade caramels, Teresa's rice crispy caramel things, and chocolate cake with candy cane frosting.

3. One year for Christmas my brother and I got RBI Baseball on the Nintendo along with these huge 9 inch tall gingerbread men. That Christmas we spent the entire day playing baseball and eating gingerbread. My sisters didn't like the taste of theirs, so I ate three of them in one day. I still remember how gross I felt after eating those guys and it has affected my love for gingerbread ever since.

4. I'm so selfish that when I go Christmas shopping for my mom and sisters it goes something like this: "Ooh! Look at these earrings! One for Meg, one for McKenna." "RAD SHOES! One pair for Mom, one for McKenna" "Oh this lip gloss is perfect. One for Mel, one for Kenna." It's a problem.

5. "Perfume Models" (so they call themselves) bug the holy crap out of me. (Merry Christmas)

6. I love Christmas music. But whoever wrote that stupid Christmas Shoes songs needs to be shot. I can't listen to that song without bawling. And today we heard a new song from that same written-for-the-soul-purpose-of-making-you-feel-miserable genre and Steve and I both were crying. His cry was sweet and quiet. I was full on sobbing.

7. I suck at wrapping presents. It looks really amazing until I get to the side parts where you do the tuck-in thing with the folded-over triangle and that's when it all goes down hill. UGH.

8. After opening presents, my family does a movie theater marathon. We see 3-4 movies right in a row at the theater. It is awesomely exhausting.

9. Although one of our Christmases was celebrated last night, my other family (I have two, see.) celebrates it on the "real" Christmas. That means there's still time left for someone to give me Wentworth Miller. I mean, if he popped out of a box with a big red bow? It would be LEGEN-- wait for it -- .... DARY.

10. By the time Christmas is over I'm so sick of it all I go into hybernation for at least a week. Maybe it's the lights and sugar and stress that make me anxious and depressed all at the same time. I'm so good at faking it the whole way through December, and then when I crawl into bed on the night of the 25th, I end up crying myself to sleep. I wake up the next morning to sunshine and daisies. Except the daisies are really snow and ice. But I pretend they're daisies because that's how they feel in my heart. It's so special.

11. I hate sports. I.HATE.SPORTS. Like, I really don't get it. Neat! - That guy can run fast! Neat! - That guy can ram into someone and make them fall over! Neat! - That girl jumping and screaming is hot! - Neat! Beer! - Neat! Steroids! - Neat! He tore his ACL but it was such an awesome play! - Neat! - SPORTS! (Merry Christmas)

12. I think we should do more for others and less for ourselves during Christmas. Me included, I'm not on a soap box. Christmas should be enjoyed. December should be joyful. It shouldn't be frantically packed with so many parties. We had 9 this year. I missed tonight's (#10) and still have 3 more before we ring in 2008. I think I might just be DONE. Sorry if I don't show up to yours.

Family Pictures

Today is my Christmas and I'm still not done shopping. Christmas is in approximately 4 hours and 45 minutes and I'm not leaving work for another 3 hours and 45 minutes. Oh the joys. Bah humbug. Here are some family pics we just got back today.

These quizzes are so lame but I have to take them anyway. And of course I'm Alice. And my son is a werewolf.

Which Twilight novel character are you?

You're Alice Cullen - You are vivacious and full of energy! Your childlike way of looking at life makes you both amusing and special to your friends. You make an excellent friend, although you do have a tendency to get uppity if you're not immediately given your way- people often give into you for your charm. Take this quiz! Quizilla | Join | Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code

Old news, but still really, really awesome

I saw this last year (or maybe the year before) but am still in awe at it. So I thought I'd post it for those of you who haven't seen it. And I promise you it is truly for real. My dad won't believe it no matter how many times he sees it, he'll swear it's doctored up, but it's not. All I can say is this guy's neighbors probably hate him by the end of the season.

This song is a very appropriate theme for me tonight, as its beats-per-minute are perfectly synchronized with my running around getting last minute gifts and wrapping them. My family's Christmas is being celebrated this Friday, so tonight is Christmas Eve-Eve for me. And let's just say I'm not quite crying yet, but tomorrow I will be for sure.

26

I'd like to say I have some profound thoughts about turning 26 years old today, but I don't. I've spent my entire life wishing I was older. Many times I have lied about my age. Not lied, but let people assume I was older than I really am without correcting them. I think this stemmed from the time I started my first job. It wasn't a job most 14-15 year olds start out with. Every single one of my co-workers was in college and I had a major age-inferiority complex going on. My dad was "the boss" and I was determined to prove to people that the reason I had my job wasn't because of that fact. I didn't want to be the cliché of "the boss's daughter". I looked older than 15, so when people assumed, I let them. It only became a problem when 24 year old guys would invite me to come out with them to lunch. I remember one guy named Kelly had it bad for me. He had no idea how young I was and when he asked me out, I told him to hold on for a minute and then I ran into my Dad's office to ask him what on earth I should do. Ever helpful, he told me to go out with him and don't tell him how young I was until after he had paid for lunch.

It turns out that while trying to prove my working capabilities despite my age, I had erred on the side of being too good an employee. I didn't realize it until several years later when I overheard a co-worker talking about how she could take advantage of me because I stick my nose in my assigned project, not coming up for air until it was finished, and then immediately go back to ask for more work, like some sort of puppy. Well that was a big wake-up call, and also the beginning of me being a normal employee, the kind that allowed herself to pee during the day. Or stop at the drinking fountain for a minute.

But even since that wake-up call, I've still always worried what people thought of my age, like they wouldn't respect me as much as I deserved. What would they think of a 24 year old woman doing this job? I've often wondered at what age would I finally not wish I was older. What number would it take? When would stop pausing before answering the question, "how old are you?" so that I could figure out how old I really am, since I honestly forgot from lying about it more often than not? Well, apparently that number is 26, but I didn't know it would be that number until the last few days. I'm okay with being 26. I don't feel too young or two old. I'm just 26. So what?

Enjoying...

a handful of Bit-O-Honeys and this song, along with the entire album it comes from, Our Endless Numbered Days.

I was a fool to believe

Did you know that Simon Dewey is a Brit? Or at least he has a British accent. Maybe it's a fake. Well anyway, I met him last night (during the same trip to Costco where I was sad to be informed I don't look as young as I thought I did). And he has a British accent.

When I was in media makeup artistry school I was taught that all high-fashion photographers have either a French or English accent. It's part of their photography school curriculum and the French or English depends on what school they went to. Now that I type this all out I realize I'm a fool. Who would believe that? And what sort of fashion photographer actually goes to school anymore anyway? It's so much more elite to be self-taught.

So, that awakening-to-the-truth thing that just happened to me with the fake accents? It's like when you're seven, and you're eavesdropping on an adult conversation in which someone makes a political joke and you take it literally and spend the next 15 years thinking Saddam Hussein's name really ISN'T Saddam, it's just what the Americans nicknamed him because it's "mad-ass" spelled backwards. And then when you're older and wiser Saddam comes back into the picture. Except this time you actually get the joke, and your mind swirls back through 15 whole years in just a matter of seconds, to rectify all those times you thought you were so clever for calling Saddam such a naughty, secret codename.

Perhaps a fitting follow-up post to the one where you learned my husband used to babysit me.

We were just at Costco, and there was a cute girl about my age working the checkout line. I thought I heard another employee call her "McKenna". So when we got up to her, I asked, "Did he just call you McKenna?" She said yes and I said, "We have the same name!" She then gave me a high-five and said, "Awesome! I've never met another McKenna that was older than me!" And the rest of the conversation doesn't even need to be written here because, I mean, what else is there, right?

Except that in the parking lot on the way out this happened:

"I swear that girl in there was no younger than you."
"I know right? Do I look old for my age? "
"Well I didn't think so but one has to beg the question after that!"
"Maybe it's because I have a baby."
"Or maybe it's me."
"It's YOU! YOU make me look old! You drag me up to 30!"

How I met him the second time around

One day in 1st grade I was sick with the flu and stayed home from school. My mom worked as a writer for a local newspaper and needed to go in to the office for a while, so she dropped me off at her friend's house. It happened that her friend's son, Stephen, almost 4 years older than me, was sick with the flu as well. I was a little shy and nervous in their house, my mom's friend intimidated me, although very nice. She sat us down next to each other on the couch and handed each of us a large saucepan, just in case we needed to puke. There we sat, side by side, big, black pans on our laps. I have a snapshot in my brain of that very moment. The first memory I have of my husband.

Our mothers have been best friends since I can remember. Stephen's older sisters were my favorite babysitters, and I especially idolized his sister Ami. She could drive a car, and she listened to such a cool radio staion: "Kissin' 97". And Gina. She drove a bullet bike! Rad. Occasionally, Stephen and his brother Mike would co-babysit me and my younger siblings. I remember playing tag in our house and generally being a nine year old pain in the butt to them. I was the most precocious thing at that age. I would get teased in the neighborhood for being the biggest liar, and I deserved it. I made up such stories. Told the neighbor I was adopted. When she said that's not possible because I look just like my dad, I told her, "well my dad's my real dad, but my mom's not my real mom".

So you can see why, many years later, I didn't go up to Steve and say "hi" when I spotted him at the gym. I didn't want him to remember that annoying nine year old. I hadn't seen him in a decade. Not a glimpse, not even a picture. And there he was on the elliptical, big and burly like a teddy bear.

And the next day, I saw him at the pizza house during lunch.

And the next day I spotted him at the mall, then came home to tell my mom, who was still regularly in touch with Steve's mom.

"Mom, I have run into Steve G. the last three days in a row. Weird! And. He's cute. And. Maybe he would like to be my friend or maybe ask me out. You should call his mom and tell her to tell him to call me!"

After ten minutes of utter protest, I finally convinced her to call Steve's mom. Fast-forward several days and my phone rings. It's Steve. He's on a business trip in Tuscon and his mom gave him my number just before he left. Originally he refused to call. Too weird, right? "I used to babysit her." But something told him to just pick up the phone and get re-acquainted. We talked for several hours and I don't remember a more enjoyable conversation. He came home a few days later and took me to the playhouse and to dinner, where I incidentally managed to break my fork.

He was different from other guys. Other guys opened doors for me. Fine. This guy pushed in my chair at dinner. He held my coat open for me to slide my arms in. He turned the heater in his car on full blast to keep me from shivering, even though it made him sweat. He deeply respected me. He wasn't too cool to be goofy. He didn't kiss me until Thanksgiving, four dates later.

And by Christmas, we knew we were forever.
And by New Years, he had picked out a ring.
And by Spring, we had tied the knot.
And today he still makes me laugh every day. He makes my soul smile.

Fortunately, unfortunately

Unfortunately, my computer's mother bored fried itself so I spent the entire exhausting day trying a million different fixes that of course didn't work.

Fortunately, I had an appointment at the salon after work. I always feel good with fresh color and a trim.

Unfortunately, I accidentally handed the cashier at the salon my company's credit card instead of my debit card, which means I accidentally stole $85 bucks. How do you explain yourself on that? There's no excuse other than, "I just wasn't thinking."

Fortunately, I looked really hot driving home in the dark.

Unfortunately, I looked down to find my gas light had been on for who knows how long.

Fortunately, I still had 15 minutes before I could pick up the pizza for dinner, so I had time to stop at the gas station.

Unfortunately, I couldn't get my debit card to work in the machine. It took five tries and 15 minutes standing in short sleeves in the freezing cold.

Fortunately, the pizza was still hot when I got there.

Unfortunately, my bank called me before I could even get home to ask if someone had stolen my card because a gas station just charged me $99 four times. Seriously, can anything work right for me today?

Fortunately, they are an awesome bank and refunded the charges immediately.

Unfortunately, I forgot to check my speedometer while driving on that one back road with the speed limit of a one-lane residential street, even though it's very much not one-lane, and very much not residential, and very much should be a 40mph road. I got pulled over.

Fortunately, the officer was really nice.

Unfortunately, he gave me a ticket anyway.

Fortunately, I didn't get hit by the train between my citation spot and my driveway, the pizza was tasty, and I got a good night's sleep because my chihuahua didn't bore his way under the covers to sleep in my bed. (Odd, I don't think there's been one single night he hasn't done that.)

Unfortunately, we woke up to find out that the reason he didn't sleep in our bed was because he slept on the front porch in the snow. All four pounds of him. Shivering. Purple. Delirious. Oops. (Note to future self: when you take the dog out to pee, let him back in)

Fortunately, he didn't die. A few minutes under the covers and he was back to his chipper self again.

Unfortunately, there are many days in my crazy life that follow this familiar pattern of chaos and confusion. Disarray. Cataclysm.

Fortunately, I always wake up the next day to find I am incredibly blessed with family, friends, shelter. And really, what else is there?

Peeking over the top of my book

This is a completely useless picture but I can't bring myself to delete it. Why does it bring me joy? Maybe because it looks like peace to me. This is my view from the couch, after the baby's in bed, after the dishes are done, and some of my favorite simple things are going on. My feet are propped up on the ottoman you see, I'm covered in a fuzzy blanket reading books and magazines by the light of my Christmas tree, and I'm drinking water from my favorite Coca-Cola glass.